


delicate.

by thepapernautilus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Dry Humping, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Resolved Sexual Tension, Truth or Dare, i don't know how triple triad works and at this point i'm afraid to ask, specific female warrior of light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapernautilus/pseuds/thepapernautilus
Summary: If she had questioned her feelings for him before, there was no doubt in her heart. Not anymore.But if she was certain where she stood on the matter, she hadn’t the smallest clue of how to handle such a thing. Eikons, Ascians, dragons, the fate of empires—all these things felt far easier to handle than speaking openly with him.And godsdammit, the man didn’t have the smallest clue what he was doing to her.G'raha and Hara play Triple Triad, truth-or-dare style. Things get honest, as they tend to in the late hours.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 17
Kudos: 134





	delicate.

Something had ever gone unsaid between Hara and G’raha Tia. There was a thread of tension she could trace as far back as Syrcus Tower, charting its course as surely as he tracked her own through time itself. Even during his tenure as the Crystal Exarch, she found words failing her at strange moments, robbed of speech by the set of his mouth, his piercing scarlet looks in her direction rendering her mute and flushed.

Hushed conversations falling into uneasy, strangled silence. Leaning far too close to one another, nearly sharing breath, before forcing themselves to turn away.

It was in the way he would prioritize her when she was in the room, no matter how close the spectre of war hovered above them.

Even when the crystal on his body grew, dark circles as if bruised under his eyes, light-headed from sacrificing sleep and food—she told herself doggedly she _must_ be imagining it—something in his expression softened when she spoke.

And if she could not be confident on where G’raha’s heart lead him, she knew the nature of the pain in her own, the knife in her gut twisting as she watched him take his place before the neglected Emperor’s Throne, choosing to stand as a testament to time itself.

And the sweetest relief when those eyes opened—brilliant scarlet meeting hers, and the blinding smile on his features—

The riotous, wild thrum of her heart when he leaned over to whisper something, hot breath ghosting over her ear, haunting her.

The unbelievable tenderness in his eyes when she called his name—when he pleaded with her on his deathbed.

All those things lingered—taking up a space of their own inside her heart.

If she had questioned her feelings for him before, there was no doubt in her heart. Not anymore.

But if she was certain where she stood on the matter, she hadn’t the smallest clue of how to handle such a thing. Eikons, Ascians, dragons, the fate of empires—all these things felt far easier to handle than speaking openly with him.

It was ever on the tip of her tongue these days—and she couldn’t help but wonder if he could _tell._ When their talks would fall silent, he would give her that shrewd, sanguine look—almost as if prompting her to speak.

And godsdammit, the man didn’t have the smallest _clue_ what he was doing to her.

Where the Exarch had always maintained a certain physical distance, G’raha radiated warmth. Casual, lingering touches, on her shoulder or at the small of her back—the most innocent of brushes burned through her clothes like a brand.

Fecklessly brushing the hair from her face, treating her with one of those blinding smiles which turned her knees weak.

One meal his hand drifted over the back of her chair, carelessly rubbing small circles into her shoulder, rendering her a trembling, stammering mess, unable to finish her plate from nerves.

Another time he rested his hand on her knee, letting it linger there beneath the table. Entertaining conversation with Urianger easily and freely. Entirely heedless of the fact she had gone entirely mute, body swept in a hot flush, every hair on end from the subtlest shift of his fingers.

Never, in all her days, had she felt so _vexed_ by someone such as him.

And now, for the first time in nearly five years, the Rising Stones had fallen silent.

Each of the Scions had gone their own ways—Krile, with a resigned sigh, had finally given them all clean bills of health, muttering something about how they shouldn’t overexert themselves, and each of them were taking well-deserved time away from their duties to spend time with their families, loved ones, taking care of loose ends. Even Tataru was returning to family in Ul’dah, although, she noted with a twinkle in her eye that there were some trade opportunities she would like to be appraised of.

That was, everyone save for Hara and G’raha.

G’raha insisted that everything that mattered to him—everything he ever cared for—existed within the scope of the Rising Stones, and he had no need for anything else. And thus, he would remain.

Hara told herself she wouldn’t dwell on what—rather, _who_ —precisely he meant, but she did anyway.

During the day the usual suspects made their daily rounds, duties and leves were handled. Hara took whatever jobs available, but it still left her with too much time to herself during the days.

The evenings were worse still.

They took dinners from Rowena’s kitchens, sitting aside one another quietly at a wooden table.

Trying desperately— _vainly_ —to fill the silence between them.

For fear they would inevitably deal that which had gone unspoken between them for so long.

And gods, did she yearn to tell him.

_I’ve never been able to stop thinking of you._

_You mean everything to me._

_There is no where I wouldn’t go without you—no one I wouldn’t be for you._

Yet something muzzles her still. Keeps the words under lock and key within her heart, bidding her into silence.

That evening G’raha had taken his meal in his own quarters—he had a thick tome in his hand, mumbling something under his breath about research on Azys Lla.

She watched him disappear behind the wooden door and wondered at the keening in her heart.

Instead of chasing after him, she kept herself busy—rather, Hara _tried_ to.

But it was passing difficult to focus on organizing her books or belongings when she kept pausing to listen for him.

When she kept wondering what he was doing—

How would he look, studying at his desk? She often felt like G’raha was at his most honest state in his moments of study, even as the Exarch. The typical organization fell to the wayside in favor of instinctive disaster, books and scrolls and papers scattered on every ilm of the desk. His posture was terrible—often massaging his neck during a particularly long bout of research—moving from a lazy sprawl in his seat to that of a stiff-backed student in an instant.

He had no patience for his hair in those moments, at one point threatening to shave it off until Hara interceded.

“G’raha,” she said gently, “there are tools to pin your hair out of your face, you know.” She presented a handful of her own hairclips. “Here, look at me.”

He did—fixing her with that steady, sanguine gaze, sweeping the breath clean from his lungs.

She carefully pinned his hair—softer than silk, gods above, she _delighted_ in the opportunity to card her fingers through it—away from his face, criss-crossing the hair pins so they would stay, in battle or at his studies.

“There,” Hara said, pleased with herself, leaning back to examine him. “Better?”

He nods, smiling gently. “I am in your debt once more, it seems.”

She blushed. “There is no debt between us—“

And then he moved, quick and sudden.

He brushed a lock of her own hair from her eyes, the burgundy strands slipping through his fingers as he carefully, slowly, tucked it behind her ear.

Hara couldn’t breathe.

“I owe you much and more,” he told her. “Thank you for this, Hara.”

And then he turned back to his tomes as if he hadn’t just given her enough fuel to torment her daydreams for weeks on end.

Hara fought with herself, pacing the breadth of her quarters. Moving books when they irritated her, yanking open a drawer to fastidiously organize the already orderly belongings inside.

She wanted to see him.

She _needed_ to see him.

What would she say? She had no excuse. He had bid her goodnight, doubtless thinking she would occupy herself in some way—she had no business disturbing him anyway, it was preposterous, _ridiculous_ —

She sank onto her bed, running her hands through her hair.

The motion reminded her all too much of when _G’raha_ had done such a thing.

She makes a plaintive sound through her gritted teeth.

Perhaps—

Perhaps she could check on him.

Would that seem suspicious? Would he wonder what she was up to? She wrings her hands, adjusting the sleeves of her blouse irritably as she wrestles with herself.

“I’m the godsdamned Warrior of Light and I cannot bring myself to talk to—to talk to some—some stupid, historian _catboy_ —“ Hara cursed to herself.

She checks her time-piece. The bell was growing later by the minute—G’raha sometimes stayed awake to the small bells of the morning, but she had no way of knowing when he would retire for the night.

What if—

What if she interrupted him while—

In a haze of flushed embarrassment, a heady image sweeps over her—him, bare-chested, sprawled on the bedsheets, head tipped back and skin deliciously flushed, working himself in his breeches—

— _her_ name on his tongue—

She shakes her head to dispel it, cursing herself. This was the wrong time—the _worst_ time to contemplate such a thing.

Hara draws herself up, taking a deep, steadying breath.

She searches within herself for a trace of the woman who had confronted Primals and Ascians alike without so much as a backward glance and finds herself lacking.

She just wanted to bid him goodnight—that was her excuse. There was no other reason to call on him. Perhaps she would ask if he would like to share some tea—?

Before she can second-guess herself, Hara walks stiffly to her door, swinging it open and striding down the hall—

—That is, what she _means_ to do, but instead, she collides face-first into a rather stiff warm body the moment she opens her door.

“Hara!” G’raha yelps, reaching out to steady her. He grips her by the arms, looking her over with a nervous laugh. “I— I must admit, I was not expecting you to be—“

“W-what are you doing here?” Hara squeaks, her whole face reddening. He was maddeningly close to her—his hair was loose and unbound, damp from a shower, by the Twelve, he smelled _phenomenal_ —bergamot, pine, musky and indulgent—

“I wanted—well—“ G’raha says sheepishly, “I—I know we’ve spent these last few days to ourselves in the evening, but—if it is no intrusion—“

Hara falls silent, heart racing.

He clears his throat, straightening. “I was wondering if you might... desire my company. F-for the evening.”

She makes a strange croaking sound which startles him into laughter.

“Y-You are more than welcome to,” she stammers, “that is— you are under no obligation to entertain me, but I certainly wouldn’t mind—“

“I would like nothing more,” G’raha says softly.

Her heart leaps into her throat at his words.

She steadies herself, remembering they were both standing in the hallway and letting him into her quarters before closing the door behind her.

“I have never been in your quarters before,” G’raha smiles, looking around curiously. “It is… different than I expected.”

“In what way? You saw my room in the Pendants. Surely it is not much different.”

He trails a cautious hand over her desk, making no move to disturb its contents. “It is... more humble, I suppose. Than one would might assume of the Warrior of Light.”

She scoffs. “Don’t tell me you expected grand tapestries, retainers, piles of gold.”

His eyes twinkle at her. “Mayhaps,” he teases. “No—sometimes I forget that despite your fantastical deeds, that you are a young woman still. It is…” He struggles on the word, “ _comforting,_ in a way. To know you are aught but Spoken despite divinity’s hand upon you.”

He shakes his head then. “But I did not come to bore you with philosophizing.” He pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket, worn and well-loved. Hara recognizes the embossed backs. “Thancred gifted these to me before he left.”

“Ah, Triple Triad. He’s tried to teach me it a time or two.”

“Do you play?”

She blushes. “Poorly.”

He smiles. “We are evenly matched, then.” With an artless grace he sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the flagstones. She follows suit, sitting across from him with her back leaned against her bedframe.

She watches him shuffle—his arms are bare, nothing but pale freckled skin and taut muscle beneath, and she finds herself mesmerized by the flex of his hands, corded tendons rippling as he works.

Her mouth feels incredibly dry.

“Would you… be interested in raising the stakes?” G’raha asks tentatively.

She leans forward. “What do you have in mind?”

“This is far from a stroke of brilliance, but—Thancred suggested since the matches are so brief, that whoever the winner is could ask the other to answer a question. And if they refuse, there’ll be some manner of repercussion—a dare, I suppose. It… it is rather juvenile, admittedly—“

“I’m interested,” she assures him.

His ears flick upwards, tail lashing on the floor. “Are you?” He murmurs.

How her heart _races_ at the dark tone in his voice.

It is more chance than skill-based—none of the cards are particularly unique in Thancred’s deck, only a handful of five-star cards, but there is still enough variance to change the tides from time to time. Hara takes the first win, finding herself pleased at the unexpected victory.

“What should I ask you?” She wonders aloud.

He laughs, a feckless, lovely sound that warms her to the very tips of her ears. “I fear if I give you suggestions it will merely be ammunition to use against me. However, I believe something personal or embarrassing is the traditional route.”

Her mind whirls, overwhelmed by her options. “Perhaps… fine then, who was your first crush?”

“Heavens above.” His face turns the loveliest shade of pink. “I-It was a professor, with the Sons of Baldeison.”

She raises her eyebrows in genuine shock. “A professor!”

He groans, burying his face in his hands. “I… was unused to praise. To being noticed for anything but my mismatched eyes. Naturally, I fell heels-over-head for the first person to treat me with any measure of kindness.”

“I wonder what Krile would—“

“If you have any love for me, do _not_ ask that woman,” he says quickly, “she would love nothing more than to embarrass me for the rest of my days.”

She fixes him with a mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”

He narrows his eyes. “Too right by half.”

Hara shuffles this time, and there is another flurry of cards—G’raha pulls out a win with a victorious yelp, Hara sinking back with a petulant sulk.

“Ever since I returned to Eorzea I have heard _countless_ rumors about you and a certain Ser Aymeric de Borel. So, I shall ask the source—is there any truth to these?”

She stares at him in disbelief. “You could ask me _anything,_ and you ask me _that?”_

“Well,” he falters, “H-Hoary Boulder said they were quite substantiated—“

“We had dinner.” She shrugs. “ _Once_. He is a kind friend to me, and while I cannot know the nature of his heart, there has never been anything more than camaraderie between the two of us. Does that satisfy you?”

G’raha looks strangely put at ease by her words. “It does satisfy.”

Another round comes and goes. G’raha emerges the winner, and treats her to a gentle smile.

“Perhaps I did not waste my round after all. Are you...?” he clamps his mouth shut. “No. That—that would be inappropriate to the extreme—“

Her eyes widen. “What in the gods’ name would you ask?”

His cheeks turn scarlet. “I-It—it was far from respectful—“

“It couldn’t be _that_ bad.”

“I wouldn’t—“

“If you don’t tell me now I’ll use my next turn to make you tell me,” Hara vows.

G’raha buries his face in his hands. “You are _ruthless._ ”

She softens at the plaintive tone in his voice. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

“I— I wanted to ask… if you’ve ever… ever been… _with_ someone.” He refuses to meet her eyes, ears flattening down to his skull. “If you catch my meaning.”

Hara feels embarrassment sweep over her in a wild, hot flush, heart racing.

That he would even _think_ to ask her such a thing—

Had he wondered? Thought about her like that, in the same ways she dreamed of him?

He blanches when he finally looks up at her. “Hara, I cannot apologize enough—“

“—Yes.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“I-It has been… there was only one, and it has been… years,” she says, mumbling it to the floor. “H-Hardly worth discussing.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “Thank you for trusting me with your secrets.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, G’raha,” Hara says mischievously. “You’ve only given me more ammunition.”

She said it with confidence—

—but he doesn’t looked phased by her words.

In fact, if she didn’t know better, judging by the way he leans forward, mouth parted—

—He was looking _forward_ to what she had in store for him.

The hours grow later, their questions more myriad, bolder, the tone undoubtedly something bordering on _salacious._ Edging ever closer to that which Hara truly desired to tell him, yet straying just far away. Asking one another their preferences on lovers, their voices pitching lower and lower as the topics grew more and more taboo. His posture grew relaxed, cross-legged and heavy-lidded, and she found herself leaning closer and closer, as if lulled into a trance by his voice, worn low and husky by the late bell.

“What is—what is something no one knows about you?” G’raha asks. Over the game he had drawn closer and closer—there was only enough room between them for the Triple Triad square, and she could see the starburst of scarlet in his eyes, count the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose.

Finds herself yearning to kiss every single one.

That was simple enough. “I have a birthmark,” Hara admits, “on my thigh—rather _too_ high up to show anyone—”

“Show me.”

It is a dark, low sound, so quiet she almost misses it.

Hara struggles to collect herself, panicking. “W-What did you…?”

G’raha looks shocked at his own words. “F-Forgive me, I— I spoke without thinking, it—“

Hara swallows hard, summoning what little of her courage she still possessed, emboldened by all their secrets shared. “You… you want me to show you?”

He flings the next words at her and they set her world spinning.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t see of you, if you allowed it.”

Her mind fades entirely into static, heart running _wild,_ levinstruck, her body hot and debilitatingly cold at the same time.

G’raha visibly flinches. “I— Hara, this need not—“

Hara takes a deep breath, then lifts trembling hands to her waist, hiking up her skirts to hook her fingers in her shorts.

His eyes widen, following her every movement, ears folded back and tail lashing the floor behind him.

Pupils widening by the second.

If she didn’t know any better, G’raha looked almost ready to _pounce._

She slides the shorts down her tawny legs, trying _desperately_ not to think about the fact he could certainly see her smalls, likely see how _damp_ they were—

She slips them off her ankles.

And to her surprise, G’raha reaches out.

His hand is surprisingly warm as it slides up her calf, smoothing over her knee and gliding up the top of her thigh.

He moves slowly—as if not to startle her.

“I-I-It’s... um… a bit…” she gasps—his touch is like levin, her nerves alight with him, “f-further…”

He shoots her an upward glance before continuing, gently coaxing her leg to the side. His hand rides higher, higher—

Hardly an ilm away from her smalls, he traces over the mark. Oval in shape, startlingly white against her dark skin.

She can scarce believe what is happening when he bends his head down.

A moan slips out of her when she feels the warm ghost of his breath across her leg.

She clamps her hand over her mouth when she feels impossibly soft, _scorching_ lips brush across the mark.

Featherlight.

Delicate.

He lingers for a moment before sitting up, bringing himself far, far too close to her. Backed against the bed, she feels small and nervous—

But not afraid. Not of him, at least.

“Forgive me,” he whispers. “I… I couldn’t bring myself to resist, you…”

His hand brushes her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with unbearable tenderness. Stroking her cheek with a long, slow sweep of his thumb.

Brushing the corner of her parted lips.

“Stop me if I presume too much—“

“Do it again,” she demands helplessly, her dignity discarded and beyond caring. “Please— _Raha_ —“

His pupils are blown wide, the Allagan scarlet rendered a sliver around his eyes.

The invocation of his name—his true name, naked of its extraneous consonant, seems to set a fire in the man.

He tips her chin upwards and slants his mouth over hers.

It’s impossible to think, to _breathe,_ so consumed with the need for more. She throws her arms around his neck, opening her mouth against his with a sigh, raking her hands through that silken hair like she’d so longed for, tangling between her fingers as she draws him closer to her. He cups her face, treating her as if she is delicate, fragile, easy to startle.

She finds herself leaning back against the bedframe, one of his legs sliding between hers, tongues brushing tentatively, a satisfied, throaty groan leaving him.

“I can’t believe—Hara, I’ve how long I have _waited_ —wanting you ever since—“

“Since?” an embarrassingly shrill mewl leaves her when he moves to press scorching kisses across her cheek, her jaw, finding her neck.

“Since Syrcus Tower,” he tells her, and how her heart _swells_ to hear it, “you were all I could think of—all I’ve ever _been_ able to think of—“ He nips at her throat and she squirms closer to him, slipping a hand beneath the hem of his tunic.

“I want you, _all_ of you,” she tells him breathlessly, and the _sound_ he makes sends her mind spiraling—dark, growling, downright _possessive_ —he licks a scorching trail up her neck, capturing her mouth again. She can’t get close enough, doesn’t have enough hands to touch him all the ways she wants—she settles for his ears, running her thumbs over the velvet, shuddering at his answering groan, pressing his body even _tighter_ against her.

“You have me,” he tells her, punctuating it with a soft kiss. “You always have.”

Oh, this man would _undo_ her.

Somehow they pull his tunic off—she pulls back just enough to finally soak in that which she’d yearned to see for so long, running trembling hands over his warm skin, the tense muscle beneath. He slides his hands up her waist, his grip tight, rucking up her own blouse as he does.

She shivers when he sweeps over her bare stomach—moans when he goes higher, encircling her ribcage, hesitating just below her breasts. She pulls him down for another searing kiss, spurring him onwards. He’s gentle at first, feeling the weight of her breasts in his hands, squeezing tentatively at first before growing bolder.

As he draws closer, his thigh connects with her apex, only the thin material of her smalls separating them.

“ _Oh—!”_ she gasps, hips bucking against him unbidden—the splendid, lovely strength of his leg, grinding herself against it, a hot flush rising to her cheeks as she does.

He moves to nip at her ear, laving the lobe with his tongue, breath hot and heavy against her. “That’s it, love,” he purrs, humming his approval when she starts to move.

She finds a rhythm—it was _embarrassing_ just how close she was from this alone, almost uncomfortable with how badly she needs this. He presses tighter against her—she angles her hips upwards, instinctive, needing more, more, _more_.

The pressure is delightful, exhilarating, and she mindlessly chases her own pleasure—their kisses grow sloppy, open-mouthed and gasping. His hands skim up her bare legs, cupping her haunches, matching the rhythm of her thrusts.

She would have died of embarrassment at the idea of humping against his leg, nails digging into his back as she grew ever closer to her climax, yanking on his hair to get him closer.

But there was certainly no where else she’d rather be.

It hits her in a wave, crying out against his mouth—he swallows her cries as her body spasms beneath him, legs clenching around him, whimpering with the aftershocks as he kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

“You are the most _splendid_ thing—“ he whispers, the _adoration_ in his voice so dear it nearly pained her, “Hara—would you—“

“Mm?” she meets his eyes—there is that kindness, that ardor, and something darker, something forbidden she yearns to discover for herself.

“I want to see you come again,” he whispers, “I want to _make_ you come again.”

Surely she would expire.

“How would you?” she breathes.

“With my mouth— _here.”_ One of his hands skims the inside of her thighs—where her birthmark was, and goes higher, cupping her sex, and she bucks into his hand automatically—gods, she was _so_ wet.

“Please,” she finds herself saying in a wild rush, “please, whatever you want, _Raha_ —“

“You can’t be comfortable,” he laughs breathlessly, helping her to her feet. She tries not to think about how _wonderful_ his hands feel on her, strong and encompassing her waist.

And then he’s pulling her into the bed, and Hara finds she can scarcely think at all.

Raha surprises her when he pulls her on top of him—and then, with a glint in his eye, he hitches her thighs higher over his body, pulling her forward—

She realizes his plan a moment too late before he tugs her onto him, her thighs bracketing his head, his breath scorching against her thigh.

He mouths at her pantalettes before tugging them to the side, tasting her in one broad sweep of his tongue—she hastily covers her mouth to suppress the _scream_ that leaves her— _oh_ , he felt wonderful, and while her cheeks burned from the sheer lewdness of it all, she rocks her hips forward, body still shuddering from the aftershocks of her climax.

And the _sounds_ he makes. Moaning against her as if he were the one being pleasured, gripping her waist hard enough to bruise, bringing her down onto him. She can’t help but grind against his mouth, and while she had reached her peak before, it’s so close to the surface as he licks and sucks, tasting every last ilm of her—

“Raha,” she finds herself saying, “I want— I want _you,_ all of you—“ She leans back, trying not to miss his touch. “Can you—that is, if you _want_ to—“

“I would be a godsdamned fool if I didn’t, Hara,” he laughs, breathless and charming, leaving one last kiss on her birthmark before she slides down his body, leaning down to capture his lips.

He tastes of _her,_ musky, something about her taste on his tongue rendering it _fascinating._ The kiss is slow and languid as she finds herself chasing it, shocked at her own boldness.

“How do you want me?” she whispers, so close their lips brush as she speaks.

His hand skims from her hair, her shoulders, trailing the spine of her back to her backside.

“ _Every_ way,” he purrs, “but, if I had to choose…”

In a trice, he pushes her into the bedspread, on her stomach, and pins her into place, his lean body against her. She can can _feel_ his hard length, and she pushes back into it, overeager and desperate.

“Taking you like this,” Raha murmurs, “certainly has its charms.”

She shudders with anticipation as he holds her steady, quickly undoing his breeches, and bringing their bodies flush against one another, sliding a warm hand up her flank.

“Hara,” he calls, softly. “If… If you wish for me to stop—“

She angles her head to capture his lips with hers. “I trust you,” she murmurs, “perhaps I haven’t waited as long as you have—but the gods know, I certainly have waited.”

“Hara,” he whispers. The longing in his voice so keen it nearly _ached._ “I don’t want to make any mistakes—not when we’ve both fought so hard to be here.”

“This won’t be a mistake,” she assures him, “at least—you’ll have no regrets from me.”

He kisses her again, that same fierceness returning—his tongue sliding across her bottom lip, humming his satisfaction as he lines himself up with her—her breath catches when he slips in the first ilm, groaning with the effort—

Another ilm and her toes _curl_ at the languid stretch of him, her breath hitching—she’s so wet it’s a seamless, easy glide—

“Let me know,” he grates out, “i-if I can move—“

“ _Please,”_ is her answer, a breathy whine.

His thrusts are slow, cautious—she can feel his body trembling against hers, straining with the effort, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. She tilts her hips back instinctively, taking him deeper still—

Another thrust, and he hilts himself in her, a strangled groan leaving him. He stills, pressing sloppy kisses into the back of her neck, her ear. She feels delightfully, wonderfully _full_ with him—

She thinks it cannot possibly get better, and then he starts to move.

His thrusts are slow—she tries to be patient, to savor it, but she felt _starved,_ needing all of him, everything he would possibly give her. “More,” she pleads—she hardly recognizes her own voice, it sounds razed with need—he slips a hand down her front, finding her swollen, slickened pearl, and she bucks back into him when he starts to draw circles around it, dizzy with overstimulation.

His pace grows ragged, desperate—she can feel him losing himself in her and she beckons him off the edge, struggling to match his pace, hair hanging in front of her eyes, her body unbearably warm.

“I thought about this,” Raha hisses, “for _years,_ imagined it, and nothing—nothing I ever _dreamed_ of—could come close to this, wicked _white,_ Hara…” he groans as he brings himself flush against her. “Every day, when you talked to me in the Ocular—I wanted _this,_ wanted _you—_ “

She can feel her own climax building, her insides clenching around him—her breath is all hitching whines and moans. She has never felt so close to him. “Please,” she cries out, “I want— want to feel you _in_ me—“

His pace grows frenetic, desperate. “Come for me,” he pleads, “let me—let me give you this—“

As if beckoned by his call, she does—sobbing into the pillow, her mind blanks out in sheer overwhelm. Clenching and unclenching around him, the sensation of being so _full_ of him setting off more waves of ecstasy, and he isn’t far behind, growling out her name as he pumps into her—she can feel his hot spend filling her as he gasps her name, a desperate sound ripped from his throat.

And then he stills, the both of them gasping for breath—his body collapses on top of hers, his heavy weight not uncomfortable.

“Would we ever have gotten anything done,” he wonders aloud, “if we knew how _that_ felt?”

Hara feels a giggle bubbling up inside her. “Perhaps the gods knew,” she grins. She stretches her body—she was aching in places she didn’t know she _could_ ache, her limbs slack and languid as she basks in the afterglow.

Ever considerate of her, Raha finds a warm washcloth and helps her clean up—she dons a loose sleeping tunic, frowning when Raha starts tugging on his breeches.

Had she misinterpreted everything about this? Was there truly nothing of significance to be found? She knew these matters were delicate in the best of times but she had thought _surely_ he felt the same way, wanted her in the same ways. 

She fights with herself, before realizing she cannot possibly bear to watch him leave, and finds her voice.

“Do you not wish to stay?” She asks softly.

She can’t stop the edge of hurt from seeping into her tone.

His ears cant back, turning to her with alarm in his eyes. “I… I didn’t want to _presume_ —“

She reaches out to grab his hand, twining their fingers together. “I would have you stay,” she whispers shyly, “if you’d like.”

He leans over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hara,” he whispers, “there is no where I’d rather be than by your side.”

Hara takes a deep breath. 

Finds the courage within her that had been there all along.

She tugs into her bed, turning down the lights.

And true to his word, he does not leave.

She has never been more grateful for anything on this star.

**Author's Note:**

> written on request, thank you so much again. 🖤 hara belongs entirely to [my-assize-crits.](https://my-assize-crits.tumblr.com/)  
> [my carrd.](https://thepapernautilus.carrd.co/)


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